Teeth sinking into heart
by Bookjunk
Summary: If Dean could choose he wouldn't be responsible for anything or anybody. Unfortunately, he is responsible for a number of things. He hates how Castiel just loves to remind him of this. Set in season 5.
1. Sidedish friend

**Chapter 1: Sidedish friend**

Dean's POV

'If you could be anything, what would you be?' Dean asked Castiel. Normal people would have already thought about stuff like that, because it was fun to fantasise about being able to be anything. Then again, Cas wasn't normal by any standards. The angel appeared to ponder the question for a while. Every line in his face stood out; he looked tired. Dean glanced at Sam, but Sam's back was to them, he was rifling through some demon info books. It was strange how nowadays they could at times have entire conversations without even looking at each other. Somehow Dean understood why Sam didn't want to look at him, but he found it strange that Sam wouldn't deign to look at Castiel either.

'I'd not be,' Cas slowly and thoughtfully answered. He looked at Dean as if he was waiting for his approval. _Did I get it right?_ Dean almost told him it hadn't been that kind of question. There was no right or wrong answer. An amused expression flitted across Sam's face as he turned around. Dean was sitting on the bed, while Castiel occupied the only chair in the room.

'I don't think Castiel understands this game,' Sam told his brother, but Dean dismissed that with a hand wave.

'No, I get it,' Dean said. It was not the expected answer; it was not about indulging in pleasure or fulfilling any silly desires, but it was perhaps what Castiel really wanted.

'Alright, as long as you two get it,' Sam scoffed. There was that whiny offended tone to his voice that indicated he felt left out. It was a mystery to Dean why people always thought Sam was the smart one. Castiel could not have been clearer. Granted, he was usually rather vague, but it was typical that the one time Castiel said something simple Sam decided not to follow.

'To be or not to be,' Dean explained and Castiel nodded.

'Ah, he wants to not be on a boat,' Sam added and Dean and Castiel simultaneously looked at him. The angel's face, which was not expressive as a rule, spoke volumes. _What are you, an idiot?_ Sometimes Sam made absolutely no sense at all. On the other hand, it was late and they had had a pretty brutal day.

'You're such a freak,' Dean chuckled. Slightly flushed and embarrassed, Sam turned his back on them again. He mumbled it was just something he'd read. This served to make Dean feel dumb. Undoubtedly, Sam didn't say it to humiliate Dean, but it still felt like a jibe. Yes, Dean didn't read much, but nowadays neither did Sam, unless it concerned their line of work. Demons, hell, heaven, apocalypses; fun stuff like that. There was a side to Dean that felt Sam looked down on him. Castiel shot him a warning glance, but Dean still proceeded to mock Sam.

'Don't go literary on me, Sammy. Don't be that guy.'

'You started,' Sam responded, louder than was necessary as he spun around quickly. Great; they were going to get into one of their late night fights, while Castiel was watching. Worst was perhaps that Dean was a little slow to comprehend what Sam meant and that Sam would use this to his advantage. The angel was regarding both of them curiously.

'You quoted Hamlet?' Sam prodded. Castiel's eyes bounced from one to the other. His presence was soothing in a way and Dean wasn't going to let Sam best him with Cas as a witness.

'First of all, I know that. Secondly, it is not a book reference. Hamlet is a _play_. Thirdly, I eh, I got it from an Arnold Schwarzenegger film,' Dean summed up and Sam rolled his eyes. Dean realised it was juvenile and stupid, but he couldn't help but be proud of beating Sam at his own game. Hamlet is a play; take that!

'Mine was Hamlet too, well, kind of. What do _you_ even know about Hamlet?' Sam responded and Dean could hear by that triumphant tone of his that he thought Dean knew absolutely nothing about Hamlet. And why should he? It wasn't as if this knowledge was going to save lives. He refused to feel ashamed because the only things he knew about Hamlet were the 'to be or not to be' thing and that Hamlet was an indecisive Danish prince.

'Dude was an epic waffler. 'To be or not to be.' Whatever. Just pick one,' he said and he could swear Castiel almost smiled. Instead of shrugging it off, Sam got that priggish look on his face that signalled he was about to give them a lecture. Dean didn't even try to hide his yawn.

'Actually, his uncle had killed his father and married his mother and he was trying to decide what...'

'Like I said, flakier than dandruff,' Dean interrupted, waltzing right over Sam. His brother huffed and turned around again, focusing his attention back on his precious books. Unperturbed Dean turned towards Cas, 'If _I_ could be anything, I'd be a young, handsome version of Hugh Heffner.'

Suddenly, Sam shut the books and announced he was going to get something from the vending machine and left the room in indignation. Dean shook his head and got up from the bed. He stacked the books and sighed. When he turned around he caught Castiel quickly diverting his gaze.

'What?' he snapped, which he felt bad about. It was easy to be annoyed by Cas, but difficult to stay angry at him.

'Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy,' Castiel said and his stare made Dean feel very uncomfortable. Like he was about to burst into flames under Cas' burning eyes at any moment. Or get struck by lightning. It was clear that something needed to happen, because if he was not mistaken Castiel had just called him a hero and his life a tragedy. Well, one of them was true at least.

'What's that? Spiderman?' Dean asked. He knew it wasn't. Spiderman was all about 'with great power comes great responsibility.' That was not like his life. He may shoulder a responsibility that he often felt was too big for him to carry, but where was the power? Where is a radioactive spider when you need one?

'F. Scott Fitzgerald,' Cas said and then, after a beat, 'He's a writer.'

'What did I tell you about that? Don't be a Sam,' Dean joked and Castiel levelled that intense stare at him. There were moments when Dean found it hard to believe that his conversation warranted such intensity, so he imagined Castiel must be listening to something else entirely. Like the dark. Perhaps angels could hear the dark and the light and other shit humans couldn't hear. That would explain why Castiel looked so tired. It would never be quiet. Something would always be whispering. He could probably even hear the silence. Actually _hear_ the silence, not like douche bags who said things like 'the silence is deafening.' No, it isn't. Dean couldn't ask Castiel whether this was true, it seemed like a much too intimate question to ask.

'Here's a quote for you: We don't need another hero,' Dean said and when Castiel looked confused he added, 'Tina Turner.' Technically, that wasn't really a quote, more of a lyrics kind of thing. But hey, it was from _Mad Max beyond Thunderdome_ and that was good enough for Dean. Absentmindedly, Dean rubbed his collarbone. For some reason this always gave Castiel a start. It was barely noticeable, but Dean saw it nonetheless. Even when Sam was in the room with them, Castiel's attention was usually focussed on Dean. Castiel listened to him and stared at him in that flattering, yet unsettling manner of his.

After a while Dean had discovered that he had unconsciously copied his friend's behaviour. Whenever Castiel was in the room Dean found himself trying to read him like a book. It was a curious experience and it had paid off in unexpected ways. That start for example, that tiny crack in Castiel's calm exterior when Dean touched his collarbone, it made Castiel's fingers curl into fists. As if he was trying to control himself from doing something. Doing what? Dean didn't know, but he was confident that as long as he kept watching Castiel he would someday find out.

(***)

Okay, disclaimers:

Sam's weird 'Ah, he wants to not be on a boat' reference stems from the play _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead_ by Tom Stoppard, particularly this exchange:

**Rosencrantz:** Do you think Death could possibly be a boat?  
><strong>Guildenstern:<strong> No, no, no...death is _not_. Death _isn't_. Take my meaning? Death is the ultimate negative. Not-being. You can't _not be_ on a boat.  
><strong>Rosencrantz:<strong> I've frequently not been on boats.  
><strong>Guildenstern:<strong> No, no...what you've _been_ is not on boats.

The film Dean references is Last Action Hero with Arnold Schwarzenegger, which is pretty bad, except for the Hamlet bit. That is actually hilarious. It's on youtube.

The story title and chapter titles are from Rachael Yamagata's music album.

And obviously, Supernatural is not mine, _We don't need another hero_ is a Tina Turner song, and 'Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy' is a quotation by F. Scott Fitgerald.


	2. Accident

**Chapter 2: Accident**

Castiel's POV

A week later.

Dean's collarbones were a mystery to Castiel. Most of the time they looked sharp and hard. The skin was stretched tightly over them and there was something almost unforgiving about them. However, sometimes they were much less defined and seemed soft. Then they were reassuring. When Dean wore one of his greenish brownish long sleeved t-shirts with the three tiny buttons at the top, as he had on now, Castiel could just see them. He tried to keep his eyes off of them, because they made him have thoughts he found difficult to understand.

They seemed to beg for something, which was ridiculous, because bones cannot talk. Nonetheless, whenever Castiel snuck a glance at them, they made him want to run his fingers along them. His hands actually itched to undo those buttons and slip under Dean's shirt and feel Dean's warm skin under his fingers. Castiel was sure there were other bones and muscles there that needed his attention. Late at night, he often had to swallow hard, as he thought of them. Dean's collarbones were sexy.

In a way, which he usually employed to think of something else, – God help him; _anything _else – they were like Dean. That wasn't a much better subject, but Castiel was convinced that Dean would prefer it if he thought about him as a person instead of thinking about his body. As a human Dean was an extraordinary specimen too. There were so many contradictions collected in him. The longer Castiel spent on earth the more he came to understand that most people embodied confounding, but fascinating colliding characteristics. They could be nice one moment and mean the next, for no discernible reason.

It had to do with a combination of irrelevant variables such as the weather and what day of the week it was and whether someone had eaten their coco puffs. It was very confusing. People who were supposedly good did horrible things, while bad people could suddenly perform good deeds. When he first came down it made him question everything he thought he had known about good and evil. Mostly, humans seemed to inhabit some sort of grey area. His certainties had faded and now there were only a few things he knew for sure. One of them concerned Dean: he knew Dean was good.

Dean might torture, be cruel and callous, and show no mercy. He might hurt and maim and kill. There was nothing that Dean could do that would change Castiel's opinion of him. It was an inexplicable feeling, which Castiel, as usual, didn't understand. How could he know that? And why did he think Sam was a good person too, but he wasn't _sure_ like he was with Dean? Maybe it had something to do with Dean trying so hard.

This was the reason that Castiel could never objectify Dean, no matter how much he liked his collarbones. The simple fact was, at first Castiel had paid no attention to his collarbones at all. When he pulled Dean out of hell, he hadn't looked at him. It was only after he got to know Dean and they became friends that the collarbones started to irresistibly attract him. Being around Dean had made him so human that he was at a loss for words to describe the feeling Dean inspired in him. It had not been like that before. Castiel thought it was a very human thing to be unable to explain things. He could describe a colour in such a way that a blind person would understand what he meant, he could talk about the nuances of silence and someone who had been deaf from birth would know what he was talking about. But he could not adequately put this feeling into words. Did that mean it was love?

'Were you ever a child?' he asked Dean. The three of them were in another motel room. Sam was lying on the left bed, his eyes closed, but Castiel knew he was listening. Dean was staring out of the window, even though there was only darkness to see. Castiel was leaning against the wall; he was perfectly able to see into the night if he had wanted to. However, it was like zooming in and it meant Dean would turn into a blur, so he didn't try.

'Of course,' Dean said. Sam stirred on the bed. The angel could feel waves of annoyance emanating from the younger Winchester brother. It wasn't right that when Castiel asked a question, all three of them knew it was meant for Dean. Unless he looked directly at Sam and spoke Sam's name, Castiel's words were always meant for Dean. It wasn't fair, Castiel knew, but whenever he tried to include Sam this only made him feel more excluded.

Sam got up from the bed and took the keys of the car and Castiel was surprised that Dean didn't protest. In fact, he didn't even look up when Sam said he was going for a drive and that they shouldn't wait up. There was a tension between the two brothers lately and Castiel felt like it would soon be coming to a head. Their banter was still fun, but the tone was no longer friendly. Underneath their exchanges there was distrust and anger. He didn't want to pry; Dean never liked it when he did that.

'I don't think you were,' Castiel said after Sam had left the room. Dean turned around, laughing, but his face was drawn.

'I've got the pictures to prove it,' Dean responded. Something deep inside warned Castiel that he should stop, but it was such an unfamiliar, intuitive feeling that he ignored it. Briefly, he wondered whether Dean might be lying. The pictures would have to be from before his mother died, because John Winchester didn't strike Castiel as the kind of father who would chronicle the lives of his children with photos. John was another human dichotomy; a good person, but a horrible father.

'Being a child means being carefree, not being responsible for others,' Castiel explained. Dean's face fell and Castiel felt a curious drop in his stomach too.

'Can you honestly say that, from the moment you carried Sam out of the house that night, you were ever carefree? You felt responsible for Sam, you cared for him; something your father should have done. The night he referred that responsibility to you is the night you ceased being a child.'

'The night my mother died,' Dean mumbled and he grimaced as if in pain as he sat down on the bed. Castiel had known about Dean long before he had dragged him out of hell. On paper the man sounded tough and like a hero. In the flesh he was even more impressive, because Castiel didn't have to look hard to see the sacrifices he had made. His insecurities, his fears, his desperation, his pain; it was right there for everyone to see. Dean was afraid, but he kept going. He was unsure of himself, but he struggled nonetheless.

There were times when Castiel wished he could give Dean the certainty he himself felt. It would make the fighting easier, Castiel believed, and he would have done that for Dean if he could. But perhaps Dean fought _because_ he was unsure and afraid. To make it so that no one else had to experience those feelings.

'You were four,' Castiel continued, but before he could say anything else Dean jumped up from the bed and started to pace.

'It is too late for you to harp on my responsibilities,' Dean stated and he sounded tired. Time was a strange thing to Castiel. Humans were fond of saying that things were too late or too early or took too long. Free will had changed the concept of time, which was meaningless anyway. Fate made sure that everything happened at the exact right time, so there was no too late and everything took exactly as long as it should take.

'John was a bad father,' Castiel said and he was slightly fazed when Dean approached him and shoved him against the wall. This was not news for Dean. In the beginning, when Castiel would still look inside Dean, not caring whether Dean liked this or not, he had seen that Dean knew his father was not a model father. Far from it really. Still Dean apparently didn't like to hear someone else say it.

'I chose to accept that responsibility. Don't put this on my father,' Dean growled. His breathing was heavy and his hands on Castiel's shoulders were digging into his skin. It was Fate who had designated Dean Sam's keeper. This was an area that was unclear to Castiel, because it was where Fate and free will were muddled. Yet, he was aware that Dean couldn't have made a choice. If anyone had made a choice it had been John Winchester.

'At age four?' Castiel asked quietly and Dean let him go. The man before the angel looked utterly defeated. As he backed away he looked like he was about to cry. It was easier to read him when he was emotionally vulnerable and though Castiel attempted to respect Dean's barriers, Dean's thoughts and feelings flooded over him. There was a plea: _Please just stop_. And there was fury, a lot of fury. It covered Dean's sadness like a blanket and leaped out at Castiel.

It wasn't until Dean's fist was back where it belonged that Castiel realised Dean had hit him. His cheek felt strange. It throbbed a little. The most Castiel could say about it was that it felt uncomfortable. Much more interesting was the curious shift he sensed in Dean. Delivering the blow had added an emotion; embarrassment, – _I'm sorry_ - but it had also dulled the sharp edges of Dean's anger. Cas' friend felt better, because he had released some of his tension.

'Your father was a jerk,' Castiel said and for a second Dean just stared at him. Castiel wondered whether the insult had not been strong enough, but then Dean grabbed his trench coat and threw him at the chest of drawers. It was as if he floated towards the cheap furniture. He could have stopped it easily, but he allowed it to happen. When he connected with the chest, the amount of noise was startling. Part of the chest splintered and Castiel was fascinated as he observed that things inside his body also seemed to be damaged by the impact. As he got up from the floor, he could feel his ribs. They hummed in tune with his cheek. It was a very unnatural feeling.

Dean didn't give him time to get used to it, because he had barely gotten to his feet before Dean pushed him towards the bed. Castiel's back hit the bed at an awkward angle and a flare shot through his body. That might be pain too, but it was quite different from the throbbing he had felt before. It was sharp somehow and he liked it a lot less than the other dull experience. The carpet felt rough underneath his hands and he stumbled.

'Fight, you bastard!' Dean yelled at him, but he only smiled dopily in return. It was unintended, but he was convinced it would further enrage Dean. His hands came for him again and he was dragged across the room. Dean slammed him backwards into the wall and his hands roamed over him. Their touch was violent, but tender at the same time. This was a contradiction that truly baffled the angel, but he felt it was true. Castiel doubted whether Dean knew if he wanted to hurt him more or make sure he was alright. His friend's fingers hesitated as they tugged at his lapels and suddenly Dean's mouth was on his.

His tongue was hot in Castiel's mouth and his lips were hard and wet on his. There was a look in Dean's eyes that Castiel had not seen before. Amidst confusion and fear something else lurked. Barely able to understand his own jumbled feelings right then, Cas couldn't identify it. However, when Dean forcibly said no, it made Castiel press his body harder against Dean's. It made him kiss Dean and rub against the bulge in his pants, until Dean's hands stopped shoving him away and started to pull him closer.

Castiel's hands were moving on their own accord. It was as if even though Castiel himself didn't know what he was doing, his body did and had decided to take over. The trench coat and his tie dropped to the floor. Dean's long sleeved t-shirt followed suit on their way to the bed. They fell on the bed and with his tongue Castiel traced a warm line across Dean's neck. As he arrived at the collarbones he paused and when he finally licked them, one by one, Dean moaned softly.

Before long all their clothes were gone and all Castiel had to do was occasionally follow Dean's instructions. He discovered it didn't really matter what he did, whenever he moved something wonderful happened and they both communicated their pleasure loudly. The feeling of Dean's bare skin against his defied description; it was better than he ever could have imagined. Yes, this was definitely love.

(***)

'I want to amend my answer,' he breathed after they were done. Fast as lightning, Dean's barriers went up again.

'What?' Dean asked. His voice had reverted back to normal already. There was barely concealed irritation and a flash of anger in it. The angel frowned. He wished he could have said that all he had used was gentle coercion, but that was a lie. Nevertheless, he had seen what was in Dean's heart and in his mind and he had wanted it too. Just as much as Castiel had wanted it.

'I want to amend my answer. If I could be anything, I'd be yours,' Castiel said with unadorned sincerity and he smiled easily at Dean. His friend responded by turning his back to him and quickly getting dressed. As he stood by the window, he glanced at Castiel, still lying on the bed, before peering into the night.

'Don't get any ideas. It was just sex.'

Somehow those words affected him more than when Dean had driven his fist into his face or slammed him against the wall. It felt almost like a punch in the gut, like actual physical pain. For a moment he felt as if he couldn't breathe. Slowly, ever so slowly, Castiel gathered his clothes to him and got dressed too. All the while Dean stared out of the window. It wasn't until Castiel muttered goodbye that Dean faced him.

'Are you going?'

'I'm in love with you, but you are not with me. What more is there to say?'

Heaven was not for him. Hell was not for him. For a long time Castiel had known he didn't belong anywhere, but the entire time he had been in Dean's arms he had felt like he finally belonged. The expression on Dean's face softened, but he didn't speak. Instead of vanishing, Castiel opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Gently, Castiel closed the door. Tonight he needed Dean's absence; he needed to be free of his sympathy. Again not knowing where he belonged hurt.


	3. Faster

**Chapter 3: Faster**

Dean's POV

A week later.

That night, another night that didn't go well for Dean and everyone involved with him, when Sam got back to the room he had looked at the damaged chest of drawers and then at Dean, but he hadn't said or asked anything. Dean didn't know whether this was a good or a bad sign. It was not that he wanted to talk about what had happened, but Sam might at least have given him the opportunity to lie. Now he was left to feel miserable.

It was one of those things he couldn't wrap his head around. Though he tried to be honest, there had been many a morning when he woke up next to someone he couldn't even remember the name of. There had been expectations he couldn't meet and declarations of love that he had been forced to brush off. He thought he had felt appropriately guilty when that happened, but the rejection of Castiel had been far worse.

To break the angel's heart had felt like committing a sin. Dean tried to convince himself that he was exaggerating and being melodramatic, but Castiel's face had told him otherwise. Over time it had become easier to determine what Castiel was thinking and occasionally feeling, but his emotion had not been displayed so nakedly on his face before.

In the past Dean's spurned lovers had reacted by getting mad and sometimes even. Vividly, he recalled the time when one of them had keyed the Impala. He shuddered at the thought. Suddenly, the answer occurred to him. Castiel had no experience, either sexual or with relationships, so of course he felt bad. This was simply the first time he was disappointed in love. Love was not even the right word; it was more like a temporary infatuation. Just a harmless crush. So, there was absolutely nothing to feel guilty about, because Castiel would get over it in no time.

At least, since Dean was usually the heartbreaker and not the one getting his heart broken, he thought it would be over fast. There was no personal experience he could access and consult, but there was Sam. Thinking back, Dean remembered the first time Sam was ditched by a girl. His brother had been sulking and impossible to deal with for weeks. It got so bad that Dean had made a ridiculous vow to wait until the girl was legal, date her and then dump her unceremoniously. Naturally, he had forgotten all about that pretty soon and they were constantly travelling anyway, so it was merely one of the many stupid plans of Dean Winchester that were luckily never put into action.

This memory did impress on Dean how torn up Sam had been about the rejection, because otherwise he would not have come up with such an elaborate and harsh revenge. So, regarding these matters Castiel was a delicate man and Dean could not have handled his feelings more carelessly if he had tried.

First, Cas had been telling the truth and as a reward Dean had beaten him up - not that Castiel seemed to notice half the time he was hitting him. Then he'd used him and discarded him. Like some stranger. That might be the worst of it. That he hadn't even attempted to soften the blow; he'd pretended they were nothing to each other. Even Dean couldn't deny they shared a bond.

_If I could be anything, I'd be yours_.

How corny and sappy and completely the opposite of anything Dean would ever want to hear was that? Yet...

'Dean, call Cas,' Sam said in that obnoxious clipped tone he had adopted of late. They were really getting on each other's nerves, much more than normal. Anyhow, Dean was not his brother's servant or slave or whatever, so he didn't respond to orders. Couldn't Sam recognise a furrowed brow for what it was? Some people were trying to think here.

'Dean!'

'Why? We've got books, we've got internet; we don't need an angel,' Dean objected and he could tell Sam didn't even listen. The older Winchester licked his lips in a largely futile attempt to stay calm.

'I need to ask him something,' Sam explained.

'Then call him yourself,' he snapped. His brother glared at him and Dean could see the muscles in his neck. They stood out like wires and looked about ready to snap. The tension was getting to them both and arguing about Cas wasn't helping.

'You know he is more likely to respond when you call him,' Sam said with barely disguised disdain. That was not an insult, Dean thought; it was more of a compliment. Nonetheless, Dean could feel his body stiffen and his anger rising.

'Well, I'm not going to. You call him. I've just remembered I left something in the car, I'll go and...' he responded and he had the keys in his right hand when Sam turned around and looked at him. Sam looked at Dean and what he saw made him visibly relax all of a sudden.

'Come to think of it, I haven't seen Castiel for a while. Did you two have a fight?'

'Yes. No. Kind of,' Dean muttered, unsure of how to respond. There had been so much more going on than just a fight that it wasn't even funny. Sam leaned back against another chest in another motel room in another motel in another town. He scrutinised his older brother and Dean bore the examination with patience. Guilt was such a common feeling for Dean that he was confident he could hide it like the best of them. Them being people who were super skilled at hiding guilt, he guessed.

'Does it have something to do with that broken chest?' Sam asked and paused before continuing in a more friendly tone, 'Dude, get your shit together. We need him.' Dean nodded and Sam smiled lightly. Some of the tension in the room was gone and Dean was glad. Though he still had no idea why there had been tension in the first place and why his fighting with Castiel had caused it to dissipate; they were fine now. That was good. They were better. No need to discuss it or analyse it or anything.

'You want to talk about it?' Sam asked and Dean sighed heavily. It was either that or groaning loudly and that would be plain rude. _No, I don't want to talk about it. Especially not with you._

'Yes, I need your guidance, Sammy. Please help me help me,' he eventually replied in the driest and most sarcastic manner he could muster. Sam threw up his hands in defeat. Not that Sam could help it. Talking about something – the dreaded 'opening up' – was like a natural instinct to him. Some sort of magical remedy to all things that ailed anyone. Dean was not even close to Sam's school of thought, but all the same he had been walking around feeling like a grade A douche bag for a week now and not talking wasn't really helping, so what the hell? That's when Dean sighed again and confessed.

'I had sex with Cas.'

Sam made a noise that was a combination of a choke and a sob and Dean almost leaned over to check whether he was alright, until he caught a glimpse of his face and realised Sam had burst out laughing. There was a terrifying amount of snorting and wheezing gasps and stomach clutching, before he was finally done. His nose was still wrinkled when he glanced at Dean and realised that Dean was both glaring at him and completely serious. And also, sincerely regretting his decision to tell Sam.

'Oh. That's... Well, I mean... Oh.'

They were silent for a moment. Dean shuffled his feet and Sam scratched his neck. Eye contact was avoided at all costs.

'This is a thing we haven't really discussed,' Sam finally said. Of course they hadn't talked about it; they both didn't want to talk about it. Dean had kind of hoped against his better judgement that Sam hadn't noticed and Sam had pretended not to notice and neither had acknowledged it.

'But I _know_. Come on Dean, we've been hunting together for, what, almost five years now? I've caught glimpses of them entering and exiting your room at night. And I'm telling you; it doesn't change a thing,' Sam said and he purposely looked straight into his brother's eyes. Dean responded to the stare with relief, frankly, until Sam got a horrified expression on his face.

'Wait, wait, wait. What bed? The left or the right one?'

'The left one.'

'Dean! That was my bed.'

And that was all the time they spent on Dean being bisexual. All those years, of sneaking around and doubting whether Sam had seen or heard anything and ousting guys from his room before the morning, were gone. Dean had worried about the possibility of this conversation and Sam's reaction for far too long and it was over in less than a minute. Yet, if he thought the hard part was finished he clearly did not know Sam.

'So, you and Cas. What did you say, you know, afterwards?' Sam asked and there was something in his voice that immediately irked Dean. As if what had happened between Cas and him was interesting. As if they were going to sit here and gossip about it or something. Well, they weren't.

'I told him not to get any ideas,' Dean gruffly admitted. Sam shook his head, seemingly in disbelief, which was peculiar. Of anything in this entire _Twilight Zone_ of a conversation he picked this part to find unbelievable.

'Classy, Dean,' he deadpanned and Dean shot him a murderous look. Tentative, but with a smile plastered on his face, Sam mimicked walking backwards in fear, backing into the chest.

'What else could I say?' Dean said and he had meant it in a purely rhetorical way, because there was obviously nothing else he could have said. Why the hell didn't it sound rhetorical? Leaning further back against the chest of drawers, Sam pretended to think hard. Dean resisted the urge to slap him.

'Hmm, I don't know. What about; I like you too?' his brother offered as if it was really as simple as that. Right, simplest thing in the world, except for the fact that after you've had sex 'I like you' means a lot more than just 'I like you'.

'That would have given him the wrong idea,' Dean answered and he would stand by that statement. It's not that he didn't understand Cas and it's not that he didn't want to be with him. It's that Dean only wanted Cas the way he wanted him. That made no sense. There was no other way to want someone than to just want them. Only want him. Love him. _Love _him?

'You don't like him?' Sam persisted and their talk was veering into a direction Dean didn't particularly care for. His mind was following a course of its own that he didn't appreciate either. He tried to snap out of it.

'Of course I do. Don't be stupid, Sam. He said he was in love with me,' Dean blurted out. That was wonderful. In a million years he hadn't meant to say that. That was between Cas and him. Sam appeared delighted.

'And you don't love him?' he eagerly prodded. A long silence followed, wherein Dean inwardly admitted that, yes, he loved Cas. That's why he felt so miserable. It wasn't just the fact that he had hurt Castiel, which was bad enough as it was; he had also hurt himself when he denied them the opportunity to be together. That's why he felt less relieved than he should have when Sam told him his sexual orientation didn't matter. The sneaking around should have been over anyway, because he wanted only one man. That's why he didn't want to talk about it. It was special and it was Cas' and his alone.

'Ok, clearly you do. I _knew_ something was going on between you two!'

There was a triumphant note in Sam's voice that surprised Dean and clearly sobered Sam. With a blush Sam admitted that he had thought something more along the lines of Dean and Castiel plotting to kill him if he agreed to be Lucifer's vessel. Yet, Sam remained overjoyed with the situation he had uncovered and at the same time oblivious to a fault.

'Then why didn't you tell him you do?'

Sam's attitude was starting to aggravate Dean. This was not a reason to get gleeful. If anything it was tragic, like the rest of Dean's life. It was like Cas had said, 'Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy,' except in Dean's case it was, show me an idiot and I'll write you a tragedy. Struggling to explain, Dean raised his voice in frustration.

'Because... I can't have anything,' he retorted.

'That is the saddest thing I've ever heard,' Sam said and he made a sympathetic face at Dean.

'Really?' Dean asked in a small voice. The sympathetic face was, of course, fake. Evidently, Dean's misery was a source of entertainment for his brother. Well, Dean silently swore that if Sam dared to pretend he was playing the world's smallest violin he would sock him right in the jaw. Perhaps then this whole thing would be a lot less hilarious.

'No,' Sam responded, drawing out the vowel to emphasise his point, 'You're such a martyr. What does that even mean?'

'It means that when I have stuff things go wrong. It means that when I am responsible for someone they get hurt,' he bit at his brother. Responsibility; if he ever heard that word again it would be about a lifetime too soon. The irony wasn't welcomed by Dean either. It was Castiel who was forever going on and on about his responsibility and Dean felt he couldn't take the angel on as his responsibility on top of everything else.

'Responsible means love in this context, right?' Sam mocked, putting air quotes around the word, and Dean punched him in the shoulder. Chuckling and rubbing his shoulder, Sam continued, 'Just checking. So, you feel 'responsible' for him now?'

'Yes.'

'Well, what's going to change when you are with him? You feel 'responsible' for him already. Is Fate going to see you two are together and kill him or something?' Sam asked and when he said it like that Dean's reasoning made no sense. A grown man with bangs miming the application of air quotes every time he uttered the word responsible made more sense than Dean. That couldn't be right. There were larger issues at work that Sam didn't understand and couldn't understand.

'Don't talk about Fate. I've fucking had it with Fate,' Dean swore, straining to hold on to his arguments. He could hardly remember them anymore. He didn't want to bring up their parents or Jessica; people Sam had loved who had died. That would be unnecessarily cruel. If Dean could choose he wouldn't be responsible for anything or anybody, which according to air quote man over there meant that he didn't want to love anyone. That would undoubtedly be an easier life, but he did love people. There were Sam and Bobby and now Castiel. A different kind of love altogether. Castiel might well be all Dean ever knew of that kind of love.

'Then exercise some free will and choose to be with Cas. This talent of yours to turn your life into some sort of Shakespearean tragedy: it's stupid. People don't die because you love them or because they love you. People die because we're in a dangerous line of work. Cas is in it whether you like it or not, so you might as well be with him and be happy.'

Sam looked as if he had given the speech to end all other speeches and Dean felt that Sam deserved, at the very least, some faint praise. He was right and Dean was wrong. Not being with Cas would be stupid and a waste. His brother did understand. Suddenly, Dean felt a flutter in his stomach and couldn't wait to tell Cas.

'That might actually be... good advice,' Dean grudgingly admitted. The two brothers smiled at each other, but then Sam had to ruin the moment by making fun of it.

'Aw, Dean, I 'responsible' you too.'

'Shut up, Sam.'


	4. Pause the tragic ending

**Chapter 4: Pause the tragic ending**

Castiel's POV

The same day.

Castiel knocked on the door of the Winchester's motel room and Dean immediately opened. In Castiel's peripheral vision he noticed that Sam was standing by the drawers. A moment followed. Humans would probably have labelled that moment awkward, but he merely felt the same as he had ever since that night a week ago. There was a pain in his chest that wouldn't go away, because, as far as he could tell, it wasn't really there.

And there was a hole in his stomach. Again not an actual hole, but something that felt like a hole. He imagined it might be black and endless. There was a sort of... discomfort wrapped around it. It might have something to do with what Dean had said or it might be the six burgers he had eaten for breakfast. Either way, the feeling was unpleasant. Now that Castiel had had time to think about it, he had decided that it was good that Dean didn't feel the same as he did.

Castiel had already felt uneasy about revealing his feelings to Dean, because it was wrong to have used free will for such selfish means. Dean had responsibilities that reached further than Castiel could see and it would not do to interfere. The Fate of too many depended on the two brothers. If Dean had responded to his feelings in kind it might have interfered with his destiny. Though he had rebelled against heaven, Castiel had the greater good in mind. If the greater good was not served by them being together then he would not push.

That night he had pushed too hard as it were. Dean's reaction afterwards had showed as much. Regardless of what Dean had been thinking and feeling at the time, it was clear that when given a choice Dean wanted nothing more than friendship.

'You called?' he asked and Dean nodded. He wasn't sure why he asked. Dean called him, so Dean knew that he had called him. Castiel had taken the call, so he knew it was Dean who had called. Thus, his question was unnecessary and illogical. Was this small talk? Sam took the keys of the Impala and made for the door.

'I'll leave you two to it. My bed, your bed,' Sam said in the doorway and he hesitated before retracing his steps back into the room. Standing between the two beds, Sam pointed towards the left one and enunciated clearly, '_My_ bed,' and then pointed at the right bed,'_Your_ bed.' The message wasn't intended for Castiel, as Sam stared fixedly at Dean the entire time. Dean grinned, while Castiel remained confused by the demonstration even when Sam gave him a hearty slap him on the back.

As the door closed, the remaining hunter started to pace, while the angel sat down and waited to be told why he had been called. When Castiel surveyed the room, he was startled to discover it looked almost exactly like the one they were in a week ago. Two single beds, a table, a chair and a chest of drawers. It was a peculiar thing to have upset him, because most motel rooms looked about the same. With the Winchesters he had seen quite a few of them and the differences were minuscule. Here the wallpaper appeared mouldier than in the previous one.

'I'm sorry,' Dean mumbled and Castiel looked at him. There was a compassionate look on Dean's face that Castiel couldn't bear, so he averted his gaze. As Dean approached, Castiel swallowed and tried not to think of the sound Dean had made when he had licked his collarbones. He felt Dean's hands on his shoulders, but he didn't look up. Above him he heard Dean clear his throat. Forcefully, Dean pulled him to his feet. They stared into each other's eyes without blinking.

'Cas? You _are_ mine. And you've already branded me, so I might as well be yours too,' Dean said as he took Castiel's hand and put it on his left shoulder. Through the fabric of Dean's shirt, Castiel could vaguely feel the outline of a hand seared into Dean's flesh. There was something else going on too. The barriers protecting Dean's thoughts were gone for a moment and it was as it had been before. Dean _did_ love him. Then the barriers went up again.

'Mostly, I'll say what I feel,' Dean said and he smiled lazily at Castiel, 'This isn't _Twilight_. I'm not desperate to have you know what I'm thinking all the time.'

Castiel's resolve crumbled as Dean's hands loosened his tie. Perhaps it was Fate yet. Gently, Dean touched Castiel's cheek. It was the place where Dean had hit him, but if this would be the result, Castiel thought that he wouldn't mind if Dean hit him in a number of other places as well. With trembling fingers, Castiel traced a line across Dean's jaw. They both leaned closer and kissed slowly. There was no tongue, just simply lips against lips, Dean's hand at the back of his neck. When they parted, Castiel pressed a quick kiss on both of Dean's collarbones, which caused Dean to laugh.

'What is it with you and my collarbones?'

'I like them,' Castiel admitted, blushing. His lover brushed his hair away from his face and allowed his fingers to slip into his hair. The feeling of Dean's fingertips on his sensitive skin made Castiel's knees buckle and he had to lean against Dean to keep from falling over. It was possibly the best feeling ever. Except, what happened next was that Dean rubbed his hip against the bulge in Castiel's pants and then that was the best feeling ever.

'I've noticed,' Dean chuckled into Castiel's ear. His warm breath and lips tickled Castiel in a delicious way and they pulled back a little before kissing again. This time Castiel entered Dean's warm mouth with his tongue. Tentatively, he felt teeth and gums. Everything was wet and, more importantly, Dean's. Suddenly, Castiel felt the need to explain what he felt, because Dean did not possess the ability to know what he was thinking. Dean gasped as Castiel moved away.

'When I dream of home, I can only see your face. And your collarbones.'

'You're a poet,' Dean replied with a mocking smirk. His arms wrapped themselves around Castiel. One hand at the back of his neck, to bring him as close as possible to Dean's lips, the other held against the small of his back. The feeling of belonging had returned and Castiel basked in it. Dean was all around him and in his mouth. Their kisses were becoming greedier. That is what he was: greedy and selfish. Abhorred, Castiel pushed Dean away.

'What's wrong?' Dean asked. His voice sounded worried and it struck a chord in Castiel. At once Castiel's chest resumed its hurting and his stomach churned.

'What if it's not right? Your responsibilities, your fate...' Castiel hesitatingly explained. He was aware of how much Dean hated the word 'responsibility,' but this time Dean only smiled. Roughly, he jerked Castiel closer and thrust his body hard against Castiel's. There was a bulge in Dean's pants too and Castiel softly whimpered as it touched his.

'Fuck Fate,' Dean whispered and froze. Castiel backed away from the immobile man and looked around. Seated on the bed was a blonde woman with glasses and a big book on her lap. She eyed Dean with distaste.

'I don't like him,' she stated. Her appearance frightened Castiel. If anything, he had been expecting a different sister. Had he been right and could this be that important?

'Atropos.'

'Castiel.'

'This has nothing to do with you,' he protested, but it sounded feeble even to his own ears. Atropos pushed her glasses back into place and stared at him.

'You don't sound so sure,' she said. The hole in his stomach expanded in size. It was like a dark vortex sucking him in. The fact that one of the three Fates was now talking to him confirmed his worst suspicions; he had disrupted the natural order of things. Atropos patted her clothes, before getting up from the bed, still clasping the book. The shabby room was probably not to her liking.

'Technically, Clotho should be handling this; I'm just filling in for her. She's got the flu. And honestly, I don't have time for this nonsense, but it's better to keep on top of things,' Atropos explained. Castiel stirred instinctively as she approached Dean, but she dismissed his concern with scorn. After carefully scrutinising Dean, as if she wanted to see what was so special about him, she turned around and faced Castiel.

'You can't just mess with his life,' he sputtered.

'Yes, I can. It's my job actually,' she responded and the smugness in her voice enraged Castiel. Next she was going to remind him that the job was given to her by God. He hated when she did that. Yes, it was a privilege, but he resented that she was so nauseatingly proud of it.

'To be a bitch?' he snapped.

'I prefer to be called organised. Plus, those two buffoons of yours keep messing with me,' she pointed out, defending her actions with a sour face. She guided Castiel towards the window, where he could see Sam sitting in the Impala, frozen mid-head bang. _Metallica_, Castiel guessed, it was the only music he had known Sam to head bang to and even then only when he thought no one could see him.

'Look, it's not personal or anything, I'm following the script. You are the one who has circumvented us,' she continued, her tone softening slightly. It seemed that while she was annoyed, she was also intrigued. All Castiel felt was horrified, so much so that he didn't know how to respond.

'Did you really think an angel and a human were supposed to fall in love and be together? I know what should have happened and this wasn't it. You bungled it and you have to change it back,' she added and it was indeed all he had feared. Dean and he were not fated.

'I didn't know,' Castiel stammered and she regarded him curiously. With her head cocked she stared at him, a little bug-eyed, and she seemed to come to a decision. However, first she ridiculed him. Pressed for time as she may have been, Castiel was displeased to discover that she could still spare ample time to mock his humanity.

'Angels with emotions,' Atropos said and she made a disgusted sound, 'You have turned into such a whiner. Pick a team and be done with it.'

'Team?' he asked, bewildered.

'Team Free Will or Team Fate, Chaos or Order; what is it going to be?' Atropos demanded. Her arms were crossed and her lips pursed. Impatiently, she waited for his answer. After driving Dean crazy with all his late night nagging about responsibility, Castiel now found he agreed with Dean. Some responsibilities were too big. This one was much too big for him to carry. Yet, how could he justify making Dean eschew his fate when the fate of the world was bound up with it?

'What happens to Dean if I don't comply?' he asked. It was a desperate last ditch effort, an 'out' he knew he wouldn't take, but the words left his lips nonetheless.

'I might go off script and accidentally kill him,' she flippantly replied. Even in the midst of his emotional turmoil, Castiel knew it was an empty threat. Atropos was very meticulous about obeying the rules and it was imperative to her that Dean fulfil his fate. No matter how much Castiel tempted her, she would not carry out this threat. Not until Dean was no longer useful, at least. Then again, the Fates disliked it when someone meddled with their business and Lachesis might decide to shorten Dean's thread. They were fickle, after all.

'You wouldn't do that.'

'Try me,' she hissed and then, more collected, added, 'Don't make this harder than it has to be. You've already made the choice, now you have to understand it.' She stared at him intently, muttering something about oracles in films who did not understand the concept of fate. It was true that he had chosen. Before she had appeared he had harboured doubts, but her coming had sealed the deal. It pained him. It pained him more than he could express to have to take this away from Dean and himself. He couldn't imagine who got the rawer deal; Dean, who wouldn't remember, or he, who would remember. Atropos tapped her foot while she waited and stopped when he nodded.

'Out of professional courtesy, I've informed you and you can have a couple of minutes with him, before you undo it. As a return favour, can you tell me, how does it feel? Being in love?' she queried, leaning closer. Somehow it was easy to answer, though his throat felt dry and constricted.

'Like belonging. If the other person loves you too, it feels like belonging somewhere. Like coming home,' he said and it was a strange thing. That was indeed what it felt like, yet that didn't capture it at all. It was so much more that he couldn't say. The answer seemed to perplex her.

'It matters what the other person feels? What a drag,' she said. How could she understand? She didn't know Dean. She hadn't seen his courage. She hadn't felt the heat of his battered soul; a soul unlike any other. She hadn't heard Dean's emotions underneath, mirroring Castiel's emotions. She hadn't smelled the clean fabric of Dean's t-shirt. She hadn't tasted his collarbones. She could never understand love if she didn't experience these things. Castiel felt his feelings swell and stretch. No one could ever touch Dean the way he had touched Dean. See Dean for who he was, understand him and love him.

The thought of Dean waking up day after day without knowing how Castiel felt about him caused the angel such sorrow that he had to lean against the wall to remain upright. If she had known what pity was, Atropos might have felt it for the angel. As it was she clutched her book to her chest and stared at him, remaining unaffected by his misery.

'Oh, and the thing with the collarbones? Get over it.'

(***)

Author's note:

'You've already made the choice, now you have to understand it' is a reference to _The Matrix Reloaded_. It's what the Oracle says to Neo when he has to choose between saving Trinity or letting her die. Clearly, Atropos thinks little of this interpretation of fate. I rather like it.

Atropos is one of the three Fates. Clotho decided how people live, Lachesis decided how long they live and Atropos arranges their deaths. Atropos appears in season 6 episode 17 of Supernatural.


	5. Don't

**Chapter 5: Don't**

Dean's POV

Still the same day. One strenuous conversation ago.

'Atropos,' Castiel whispered. The angel was all of a sudden no longer pressed against Dean, but halfway across the room, supported by the wall. Cas had a stricken look on his face. Well, Dean _had_ just insulted Fate and he knew how ambivalent Cas felt about that.

'I think you mean apropos,' Dean said. Not that there was any more reason to say 'apropos' than to say 'atropos' at that particular moment, but at least apropos was an actual word. Also, why did they have to talk at all? Dean wanted to touch and kiss and feel Cas' body against him. For every step he took towards the angel, Castiel took a step away from him, until they had covered the length of the room and Dean had backed Castiel into a corner.

Dean thought Cas was probably right. An angel and a human; that wasn't in the cards, but this only made what they had stumbled upon more special. It was the ultimate exercising of free will and Dean was thrilled that for once it meant that something good would happen to him. That he would get to have something: Castiel's love. However, it would be a lot more enjoyable if Cas didn't look as if his favourite cat just got run over by a truck.

'We are not destined. It is not Fate or preordained. We don't belong together. It is not meant to be. Mercury isn't in retrograde; Jupiter isn't in the Fourth House. Still, I want you. I may not have chosen to love you, but I am choosing to be with you. Isn't that better?' Dean asked. All Castiel did was sigh wearily and say that Fate had nothing to do with how the planets are aligned.

They stood like that, Dean fiddling with Cas' tie, Castiel avoiding Dean's eyes, for a couple of seconds, until Castiel directed Dean towards the bed. It was the wrong bed, the left one, but Dean soon understood why it had to be that bed. The angel grabbed Dean's hand and squeezed it so hard that tears sprung into Dean's eyes.

'It might be better, but it's not the way it's supposed to be. Atropos is the name of one of the Fates and she told me I had to change it back, so that we aren't together,' Castiel quickly told Dean, in one breath. The hunter sagged down on the bed, letting the angel's hand fall.

'That sounds about right. Dean Winchester can't be happy or the world will end.'

Without Sam there to reign in his self-pity, Dean was sounding about ready for martyrdom. He was well aware of how melodramatic he must come across, but damn it. It had been right there in his hand and now it was gone. And without it he felt so lonely and tired. Fingers tried to intertwine with his, but instinctively Dean's hands formed into fists.

'This is pretty ironic coming from Mr. I Rebelled against Heaven,' he said and Castiel flinched. It was wrong to blame Cas, but who else was there to blame? Himself, for actually believing that he might have something? It had been there in Castiel's face, that stricken look, and in his hand, that pitying squeeze. Dean had seen it, before Castiel spoke; he shouldn't have expected anything. He should never expect anything. And it wasn't as if Cas had woken up one day and decided he had a problem with authority. When he had gone against orders he had the greater good in mind. Last time the greater good just happened to work out nicely for Dean too. This time; not so much.

Knowing it would do no good, Dean was nonetheless going to ask. This was worth fighting for. Fortunately, to Dean feeling mad had always come much easier than feeling sad.

'Don't. This is crazy and stupid. Like the chick from _Serendipity_ stupid. Believe me, I should know. I've been responsible for about a million harebrained schemes,' Dean objected, as annoyed with his use of the word as Castiel looked. Responsible; the fucking word haunted him. He did judge the word a bit milder though, since Sam had put a new spin on it. Not that this plan was something in the same league as Dean's moronic plans. Castiel obviously thought it was necessary to restore Fate and it wasn't dangerous or anything, like Dean's plans usually were.

'She might kill you, if I don't,' Castiel said.

'If you change it back, will we remember?' Dean asked. He tried to keep the hurt out of his voice and instead infused it with anger, indignation and accusation. Strong fingers curled around his wrist and dug into his skin as the angel explained that Dean wouldn't remember, but Castiel would.

'So, you're going to pretend that we weren't lovers,' he snapped. Scorn dripped from the words and Castiel's fingers released him. It was a shame, because the pain had felt good. It was the only thing that felt good. He couldn't look at Cas' face. He couldn't do it, so he stared at Cas' feet standing before him. All he felt like doing was scratch and scratch at his skin until it bled; another one of those highly overwrought reactions that Sam would have mocked relentlessly. But he bet that would feel so good. A new pain to distract from that other pain.

'Yes,' Castiel simply answered.

'At least let me have the memory,' Dean pleaded and he hated how he had been reduced to this. Pleading for the memory of a love that never was. But it did happen he had to remind himself, it _did_ happen. Cas loves me and I love him, he thought. Time could not change that. Even if he didn't remember this and they didn't sleep together and he had no sudden realisation and he didn't confess to Sam; the love was there. It wouldn't be gone, only submerged.

'It can't be a memory, because it didn't happen,' Castiel said and his voice was so calm and collected that Dean's right fist itched to plough itself into Castiel's face. That meant he would have to look at Castiel, so he couldn't do that. Cas had said nothing Dean didn't think or know already, yet his voice, devoid of any emotion, made Dean's temples throb furiously.

'Screw you, Cas!' Dean snapped and the legs standing before him swayed slightly. The movement forced Dean to look at Castiel and he swiftly pulled Cas into a sitting position next to him on the bed. His face was drawn and painful to look at. It occurred to Dean that this might be worse for Castiel. At least I'll be oblivious, Dean thought. Ignorance is bliss, and all that. Cas will still know and he won't be able to do or say anything about it.

'You must hate me, but Dean, I will remember and I will love you,' Castiel murmured and Dean finally allowed him to take his hand. His thumb brushed across Cas' knuckles and he briefly raised the angel's hand and kissed it.

'Aw, Cas, I can't hate you. Underneath all my sarcasm and irritation, I'll love you too. We might not be intimate, physically or verbally, but I want you to know that much. I'll love you in my own special brooding, silent, and doomed way. For a long, long time.'

Dean softly bumped his shoulder against Cas' and when his lover looked up Dean smiled. A troubled Cas weakly smiled back at him. He looked as exhausted and forsaken as Dean felt. Gently, Dean lifted Castiel's hand into his lap and caressed the long, tapered fingers. There was nothing left to lose, so Dean was up for a few little white lies. A bit of what-might-have-been.

'We'd spend our days travelling, much like we do now. Sam would drive the Impala, so we could make out in the backseat,' Dean speculated and he surprised himself by actually managing to chuckle.

'I don't think Sam would like that,' Castiel protested softly.

'Well, he'd just have to get over it,' Dean said and he could feel Castiel twitch. The angel extricated one of his hands out of Dean's grasp and grazed Dean's collarbones with his fingertips. An involuntary shiver ran down Dean's spine. The lust he felt for this man was insane. Castiel was good-looking, but Dean knew that this desire that burned him up had very little to do with Castiel's vessel. It had to do with the beautiful angel inside the vessel. Leave it to him to fall in love with an angel. Only a Winchester, folks.

'I'm sorry, I just wanted you. Not once did I think about the consequences,' Cas mumbled, apologetically and Dean would have none of that. They were way past who was to blame. There was so much he wanted to say and do; there was no time for apologies. Yet, this horrible feeling of waiting was wearing him down. When would Castiel decide it had been enough? When would he change it back, so that he would still be there, but Dean would be gone?

They could sit here and make up their future. About sappy love songs playing in the Impala while they are kissing. The supple leather of the backseat warm against his elbows as he is sprawled over Castiel. They would be so close, so intimate, nearly blending into one. Their love would be bright and tangible. Dean would feel it every time he touched his lover and every time Castiel spoke to him.

The truth was that the little light in the car wouldn't illuminate two lovers. Time had anchored them down in a place that Dean couldn't access. If a sappy love song played on the radio Dean would turn the dial and switch to some rock. Perhaps he would feel a tinge of sadness, not knowing where it came from, but he would probably feel nothing. Not knowing that he had a newfound loathing for those kinds of songs, because no sound can simulate the presence of love. There would be a distance between Castiel and him and a silence.

Dean could feel this bright, consuming love for Cas, but in reality he knew it was decaying. Perhaps it was already gone. No lies were going to make it any different. Nothing was going to bring it back around. They were acquainted with the plan. In a perverse way, Dean was thankful that he wouldn't know, because right now he felt that Castiel would always be the bitter saddest part of him and he didn't want to remember him, it, them, like that. Also, Dean didn't think he would have the strength to walk away.

'Never be sorry. In my life, I've kissed a lot of people. And I really mean _a lot_. Women and men. Some of the kisses were long, some were short, some were awkward, and most were hot. But I can honestly say that the only kisses I'll ever miss I shared with you,' Dean said and he got up from the bed dragging Castiel with him. Their kiss was like that first taste. There was anger and fear. It was violent and hard, yet somehow tender underneath. When they broke apart, the look that Castiel gave him broke his heart.

'Do it,' Dean said, but they both knew that what he really was saying was 'don't.'

(***)

Two weeks earlier.

'If you could be anything, what would you be?' Dean asked Castiel, who flinched. Normal people would have already thought about stuff like that, because it was fun to fantasise about being able to be anything. Then again, Cas wasn't normal by any standards. The angel appeared to ponder the question for a while. Every line in his face stood out; he looked tired. Dean glanced at Sam, but Sam's back was to them, he was rifling through some demon info books. It was strange how nowadays they could at times have entire conversations without even looking at each other. Somehow Dean understood why Sam didn't want to look at him, but he found it strange that Sam wouldn't deign to look at Castiel either.

'I'd not be,' Cas slowly and thoughtfully answered. He looked at Dean as if he was waiting for his approval. Dean was sitting on the bed, while Castiel occupied the only chair in the room. An amused expression flitted across Sam's face as he turned around, but before he could speak Castiel continued.

'But I suppose I must be. I shall embrace Fate. Amore fati. I will try to want nothing to be different, not forward, not backward, not in all eternity. However, I'll merely bear what is necessary, I will not _love_ it,' Castiel said and the brothers exchanged puzzled looks.

'I don't think Castiel understands this game,' Sam told his brother, but Dean dismissed that with a hand wave.

'No, he gets it; he just doesn't like it,' Dean said. Confused by the angel's response, he scratched his collarbone. He observed how Castiel's fingers curled into fists. As if he was trying to control himself from doing something. Doing what? Dean didn't know, but he was confident that as long as he kept watching Castiel he would someday find out. Promptly, Castiel vanished and Sam turned his back on him again.

Suddenly there was a woman in the room with them. The young woman had long, blond hair and blue eyes behind her glasses; she was seriously rocking the sexy librarian look. Not that he was averse to hot chicks appearing out of nowhere in the middle of the night in their room, but what was she doing here? 'Someday,' she whispered and then she was gone too.

'Did you say something?' Sam asked, without turning around. His brother had evidently not seen the woman, so Dean decided to say nothing. It was like she had been eavesdropping on his thoughts and overheard him thinking about Cas and finding out about Cas' curious tic regarding Dean's collarbones. Well, wasn't it nice that some random woman agreed that he would _someday_ get to the bottom of that mystery? Whatever the hell that meant.

The end.

(***)

Author's note:

I'm working on a sequel. It's called Happenstance and part of it has been posted already. I promise that (spoiler!) it has a happy ending.

'My formula for greatness in a human being is _amor fati_: that one wants nothing to be different, not forward, not backward, not in all eternity. Not merely bear what is necessary, still less conceal it—all idealism is mendaciousness in the face of what is necessary—but _love_ it' is a quotation from Friedrich Nietzsche.

And I blatantly stole the line 'Only a Winchester, folks' from the wonderful Supernatural story _Deuteronomy_ written by Mummyluvr. Though, I'm giving credit here, so it isn't stealing but borrowing, right? That story inspired this story. Well, I hope you enjoyed it and I always appreciate reviews.


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